Infection
by JForward
Summary: Mitchell forgets the most important rule of a werewolf best friend; keep your distance. Mitchell whump. Chapter twelve up!
1. Prologue

_**Prologue.**_

George leant over the bed where Mitchell lay, eyes closed, covered up to his chest where his arms lay, right one bound elbow to wrist in bandages. He was paler than even normal, covered in a sheen of sweat. He breathed hard, eyes flickering under the lids but not awakening, and the werewolf bit his lip, forcing back tears as he stared at his friend. He was scruffy himself; he looked like he hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and his eyes were dark from tiredness. His shirt was scrunched up and he wore jogging bottoms, the table he was sat next to covered in rings from old tea.

Annie appeared with a faint popping noise, looking at George with sad eyes, then letting them trail down to Mitchell. She swallowed and George looked up; his hands took the warm mug from her hands and he blew on it gently, "Thanks, Annie." He mumbled softly and she gave him a fleeting smile. "Come have some dinner, George." She said softly, laying her faint hand on his shoulder. "You need to eat." Her voice was heavy with concern, for him and for Mitchell. But George shook his head, "I have to be here when he wakes up. This is all my fault."


	2. Chapter 1

_Hey all. New one. Again. Sorry, I know, I know, I need to learn to finish my stories before I start a new one… but this came to me last night and I had to get it written! I don't own Being Human, so enjoy~_

_**Chapter One. Mistakes.**_

George sat next to his friend, fidgeting uncomfortably; the car rumbled softly on it's way to the woodland where he transformed. His bag was in the back, and he'd already chickenified the area. But he'd forgotten something; a call, and his vampiric friend came running. They'd gone back and gotten his stuff, and now it was almost dark and he was getting antsy. "George, would you chill out?" Mitchell snapped, turning a corner. They were almost there now, and he was getting a little annoyed, understandably. George gave an awkward smile, "Sorry." He mumbled, and Mitchell rolled his eyes, pulling up on the grass near where he'd picked him up. George reached around to the back of the car, grabbing his bag, and opened the door. "Thanks. I'll see you in the morning." Mitchell gave a smile and a slight nod.

George walked off, trying not to let himself run; he didn't want to have to run to his place. The moon would be out in less than ten minutes. Then something occurred to him, a weight in his pocket that shouldn't be there. Mitchell's wallet. He turned to give it back now, but the car had already pulled off. Oh, well, he'd have to stick it in the bag and hope no one nicked it. He headed to the little hut, then walked to the nearby tree he'd marked, hanging his bag. Undoing his jeans and then sliding his shirt off, he stuck the clothes into the bag, doing it up tight.

Mitchell decided to stop at the shop and get some fags on the way back; window slightly down for a cool breeze, he slid into a car park and reached to his pocket for his wallet. It wasn't there. He frowned, trying to remember if he brought it, then remembered. "Fuck." He muttered. He'd handed it to George just before he'd left the house, to hold, and must've forgotten to take it back. He considered for a second, then restarted the car, turning and driving fast. He knew where to go, if he was quick… Mitchell bit his lip, pedal to the metalling, as you do. He needed his money, and kept all his ID in his wallet. Muttering a curse he left the car close to the wood, where he'd dropped George, and ran toward the hut.

George stood, nervous and anticipating the change, hands covering his winkie as he waited, shivering very slightly in the cool air. Then he smelt something, a harsh, bitter smell, and turned his head. "Mitchell?" he realised. His friend winced. "Hey." Then there was a hard wave of pain and George screamed, hitting the floor on his knees. When his eyes focused again, Mitchell was at his bag, going through it. He felt confusion, then more pain. The wolf was angry, and it was forcing its way through quicker than normal. It wanted vampire blood.

Mitchell found George's jeans, tugging out the wallet, knowing his heart would've been pounding furiously if it was beating. The full impact of how stupid this was hit him as he realised the screams had stopped and whirled around. The wolf was almost formed, he had just minutes. He'd never seen George turn that quick and so twisted, running hard toward the car. He was at the tree edge as there was heat behind him, the snarling, and he stumbled. Landing hard, he twisted, hands up to protect his face, and that was what saved him. Teeth sunk into his arm and he cried out in pain, realising he was about to die by his best friend. The fangs met bone and he choked on his cry, kicking at the wolf's chest. Then there was a loud bang, fireworks going off in the distance, and the wolf let go, looking around in alarm.

Mitchell didn't waste a moment, glad he'd left the car unlocked as he dived into the driver's seat. The wolf remained distracted, then turned and loped back into the wood, hopefully to follow the scent of a chicken in circles. Taking a deep breath, Mitchell got ahold of himself. The fact that he still held his wallet in the hand of his injured arm made him laugh hollowly, dropping it on the seat and forcing himself to peel off his jacket and inspect the wound. It was deep and bleeding badly. Taking a steadying breath, he turned the car back on and began to head for home, keeping his arm pressed against his chest.


	3. Chapter 2

_Hope you like it so far. Little bit of Mitchell abuse, yeah... but it's something that I always considered. Trying to keep the action rollin' here!_

_Still don't own Being Human._

Mitchell drove awkwardly, swerving a little on his way back, pain tearing his eyes and forcing his teeth to run out a little at the scent of his blood in the air. He craved nicotine but drove past the shop, heading straight back to the little pink house, trying to ignore the tremble that was running through his body. He knew it was just shock, so he forced himself to drive more cautiously than normal, finally sliding into place outside the house. He was losing more blood by the moment so he locked the car as quickly as possible, opening the front and stepping in. He waited for Annie to call out, but there was silence. He listened as he shut the door – it was dead silent, and he felt relief wash over him as he headed into the bathroom, grabbing a first aid box.

Discarding his jacket over the toilet seat, the tattered remains of one arm drifting listlessly, he tugged the box open and clutched a roll of bandages. He inspected the injury as best he could as he wiped it with a wet flannel, wincing, the bite looking bad. The muscle around his bone had already started knitting back together, but it was a horrible wound. He cleaned it as best he could then unwound the bandages, wrapping the wound wrist to elbow to make sure it was covered completely. All done, he packed the box away, tugging off his shirt and throwing it in the washing machine with the flannel. Now he had nothing to focus on, he sank shaking into a chair in the kitchen.

He closed his eyes, letting his head sink into his hands, trying to stop a wave of dizziness that rolled over him. He needed blood replenishment, but there was nothing he could do. He'd have to feed, and he wouldn't let that happen, not after Josie. He knew what he needed as he staggered over to the counter – caffeine, carbs, and nicotine. Shoving the plunger on the kettle down, Mitchell grabbed a mug and the jar of granules, scooping them out roughly with a spoon. The hot coffee revived him a little; he headed into the lounge, scooping up the phone and pressed the pre-dial; George was one, himself two, and third was the pizza place. He rang, waiting for what felt like an age as he scooped his wallet from the side where he'd dropped it. "Dominoes delivery, may I take your order?" the youngster on the end queried. "Hey. It's Mitchell." He said and heard a laugh at the other end. It made him hungrier and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"... as you always do, then?" the kid asked – "Yeah." Mitchell agreed, uncertain, and there was another laugh. "Double pepperoni and cheese, on it's way." After thanking the kid he hung up, tugging a twenty note from his pocket and sinking onto the sofa with his coffee in the other hand. There was a sudden change of pressure in the air and then he knew what it was Annie appeared in front of him, all glowing and happy. "You okay?" he asked her, a faint smile gracing his lips as she looked at him. "Fantastic!" she responded, and he settled back to hear her story.


	4. Chapter 3

_Reviews are my oxygen! Seriously. :) Love you all, my precious reviewers! Hope you're enjoying it so far..._

**Chapter Three.**

Annie's buzzing excitement was a brilliant drug for Mitchell; nursing the cup of coffee he listened to her babble about the day, the little sect of ghosts she'd discovered and spent the day with, all the little things, the people who'd seen her and engaged in casual discussion... death was a whole thrill for her now. They both jumped when the doorbell went and he grabbed the twenty off the sofa where he'd dropped it. "Pizza." He informed the shocked ghost, who laughed at her nerves, while he answered the door. As he went to take the pizza with his bandaged arm, he gave a sudden gasp of pain, losing his grip. If not for the pizza guy's swift action the patio would've been a mess of splattered cheese but he smiled awkwardly, handing it back to Mitchell. "Careful. Got it?" the kid asked. Nice guy. "Keep the change." Mitchell said, smiling awkwardly, glad he had no blush. It was easily a fiver tip and the guy looked very pleased. As the door shut, he looked around, hazel eyes alighting on Annie again as he flopped back onto the sofa.

She looked suspicious, watching him brightly as he opened the hot box on his lap. He paused with a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth, lowering it slowly. "What?" he asked, frowning at her with a hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth, uncertain. She was frowning, though, as if she'd only just realised that was shirtless. "What happened to your arm?" she asked, and he realised with a sudden shock how vibrant blue her eyes were right now. She still stood where she'd popped into being about a half hour before... He considered his answer carefully. If he was honest, she'd tell George and the silly werewolf would hate himself. "I caught myself on some broken glass outside." He frowned. "Probably kids smashing a bottle. Don't worry, I took care of it." She didn't look happy with him but she let it be, picking up his empty coffee. "Alright... tea?" she took his smile as a yes.

He smiled as she moved away and winced as his arm throbbed, swallowing a bite of pizza. There was blood blossoming on the bandage but he tried to ignore it, flicking the TV on. When she handed him a cup of tea he winced and considered. "Awh, Annie, y'know you're my best friend?" she recognised his tone and rolled her eyes. "What d'you want?" but she was smiling and he grinned. He was winning. He leant forward and threw his wallet to her, "Go get me a packet of smokes? I'm not feeling... comfortable, going to the shop..." he felt bad, knowing he shouldn't take advantage of her in this situation, but still. She frowned sympathetically. "Alright. I won't be long." She said gently, touching his shoulder as she went to the door. "I owe you one!" he called to her, as she left.

He put the pizza on the table, munching on the second slice as he looked around for the remote, before realising he'd just knocked it onto the floor. He flicked through the channels, nothing good on, so just left it on the news as he got to his feet and stretched out. The food and hot drinks had revived him – and he had a feeling that Annie's rambled hadn't hurt, either. Desiring a shower he put the box in the oven, turned off of course, so that it would hold the heat, then headed up toward the bathroom. He looked at his arm, frowning – he'd have to change the bandage if he got it wet. "Fuck sake." He changed direction and went into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. He rubbed his eyes. Why had he come in here? He glanced around at the clutter lit by his bedside table lamp as it was now dark outside.

Perching on the side of the bed he heard Annie come in downstairs and got up again, heading back down. "Hey." He smiled and she threw him the packet of cigarettes, throwing the wallet onto the sofa. He tried to catch them with his bandaged arm but as his grip closed his hand spasmed causing him to inhale sharply, automatically clutching his bandaged area with the opposite hand. The cigarettes bounced once and lay just inside the lounge as Annie rushed to him, "Mitchell, are you okay?" he winced and jerked back from her, "Fine, fine." He muttered, reaching down and grabbing the smokes. "Thanks." He picked up a lighter off the table, opening the pack and sliding one out. He realised his hand was shaking as he lit up. Annie didn't notice however, tottering about the kitchen, making another cup of tea although he'd not finished the first. He took in a deep breath of nicotine, relaxing as he did so, half closing his eyes. "I'll head off after this." He flopped onto the sofa, drinking a mouthful of tea.

She looked in at him from the kitchen doorway, "Yeah, it is pretty late. Have you set the alarm to go get George?" "I'll do it when I go up." The normal chat relaxed him. He wondered why he'd gotten so tense all of a sudden, on edge. He wasn't normally clumsy but it happened occasionally. He was injured, it was logical he'd drop one or two things, he tried reassuring himself. But he was still uncomfortable. When he'd finished and extinguished the cigarette, he bade Annie goodnight and headed up to his room, but as he stripped to undies and slipped under the quilt, he still couldn't relax properly for a good long time and laid restless until he dropped off about an hour later.


	5. Chapter 4

_I need reviews, kinda again losing my heart... annoying. Mainly because I haven't worked out how to get him through this..._

**Chapter Four.**

Mitchell awoke to the harsh beeping of the alarm clock, snapping him out of fuzzy, unpleasant dreams. With a groan he rolled over a whacked the clock off, unsure why he was so angry at the stupid thing. He felt like smashing it. Hissing he rolled out of the bed, grabbing his jeans and tugging them on, and a shirt; he ran his fingers through his hair to brush it out, socks, and tugged his trainers on in the doorway. Annie was at the bottom of the stairs as he scooped his phone and wallet up, shoving them into his pockets, and she offered him a smile. "D'you want a cup of tea before you go?" she asked and he shot her a glare that made her recoil. "If I wanted a cup of tea I'd fucking ask for one!" he snarled, and slammed the door behind him. Annie was left stood there, eyes wide then welling with tears, rubbing them roughly. There was no need for him to be like that, and she didn't understand why... she whacked the kettle on, trying to distract herself.

Mitchell opened the car door and stopped, staring at the interior. Blood on the seat, the floor – it was his from yesterday, and that pissed him off. It was a nice interior, leather, and he'd got fucking blood on it. Muttering a curse he sat, slamming the door behind him as he started the vehicle. He blamed his bad mood on being so tired. Even with nightmares, he felt more tired than he should, but that wasn't something he realised as he began to drive to the usual spot. He pulled up, putting the radio on to some random station, trying to calm his jitter. He finally saw an exhausted George with a bag over his shoulder, opening the door and flopping down. "Hey." He mumbled, dropping the bag into the back. Mitchell didn't even smile, immediately turning the car and setting off. George looked at him sideways, "Mitchell, what happened last night?" he asked, "I remember you turning up when I was about to change, and then..." he couldn't see the bandage as Mitchell wore his long sleeved shirt, the brown and yellow one.

"I got my wallet from your bag and ran like the fucking wind, what d'you think?" he snapped and George stared at him, astonished. "Mitchell, what's your problem?" he squawked and Mitchell looked at him, fully _looked at him. _"Maybe I'm sick of being your goddamned servant!" he snarled, and George went white, "MITCHELLLOOKATTHEROAD!" he squealed and the vampire thankfully turned his eyes back in front, jaw clenched. George could see the muscle working as he ground his teeth. Realising that it wasn't a good idea to talk about this while the vamp was driving, he went silent until they were back. He waited for Mitchell to get out, and then got out himself – but as he did so, he spotted the blood on the seat and felt like he'd gone cold. "Mitchell..." he looked around as Mitchell opened the door, glancing back at him, "There's blood on your seat."

"Oh, yeah. That's mine." Mitchell said flatly, and George stuttered out a string of vowels, following him in, "You killed someone?" Annie heard and appeared, "What?" she gasped, staring at Mitchell, who held up his hands as if surrendering. "No, it's mine! My blood! Fucking hell." He snarled, dropping his keys onto the side. "I'm gonna have a nap." He headed upstairs, leaving George to exchange astonished looks with Annie. "His... his blood?" George stuttered, rubbing his forehead. "Alright. I'm gonna have a shower, and then I'm going to sleep, and THEN I'm going to try to get a straight answer out of him." Annie had nothing to say, just astonished as George headed upstairs.

There was only a few minutes before there was a yell, George's voice echoing through the house. "MITCHELL! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!"


	6. Chapter 5

_Time for Mitchell to realise that a werewolf bite isn't harmless to a vamp... also this is set kinda end of series one, forgot to mention :)_

**Chapter Five.**

Mitchell had been getting undressed for sleep; shirtless but still with trousers, he stepped out of his room and George appeared in front of him, pale and clutching his leather jacket, which still had the arm dangling and ripped, covered in his blood. "What the hell is this!" George squawked and Mitchell stared at him, frowning, "What are you on about? It's my jacket!" but even as he spoke George shook his head, twisting the jacket around and tugging the sleeve up, revealing the undeniable tooth-shaped rips. "I bit you? Mitchell!" his voice was very high pitched now and Mitchell sighed, jaw clenched. He lifted his hands, one rubbing his eyes as the other ran over his hair. "George..."

George now spotted the bloodstained bandage wrapped around Mitchell's arm and, dropping the jacket, he grabbed him by the wrist, causing the vampire to cry out in pain and suddenly the werewolf found himself held up by the throat, pinned to the wall staring into completely blacked out eyes. He couldn't even bring himself to say his friend's name, astonished, releasing the wrist to scrabble at the hand. There was a displacement of air and Annie appeared, grabbing the bandaged arm as it was nearest. "Mitchell!" she cried out, eyes wide, and he cried out in pain, releasing George and staggering back, his back bumping into the wall. Breathing hard he stared between them, then slid to the floor. "Sorry, it... it hurts..." he mumbled, and Annie's mouth moved like a goldfish as George massaged his throat. "It hurts?" she breathed, "Mitchell, the hell is wrong with you! You just... you could've... he's your..." she shook her head, throwing her arms up in the air, "No, Mitchell, you have no fucking excuse!"

He winced from her anger, forcing himself up to his feet. "George, I'm sorry." He mumbled. An edge of the bandage had come loose and he muttered a curse, "You're good at this. Could you help me... redo it..?" he mumbled, and George sighed. "This isn't gone, Mitchell. You'll tell me what happened, now come on."

So now the three of them were crammed into the bathroom; George stood next to Mitchell, who was perched on the toilet seat, while Annie sat on the edge of the bath, watching uncertainly, her hands folder in her lap. George was carefully undoing the bandage, while Mitchell winced; and as it fell away there was a horrible smell, reminiscent of the scent around stagnant water. Annie covered her nose with a sleeve while the boys winced. When the bandages were off, the wound was revealed. It hadn't healed much past the slight knitting Mitchell had spotted yesterday, and the blood had clotted deep, with an edge of dark yellow that looked horrible and wrong. He winced again. "Jesus, that stings." He muttered, biting his lip against the pain.

"Holy shit." George murmured. Annie stared at it, eyes wide, "How in the hell did you get away, Mitchell?" she whispered, and he smiled awkwardly, "Damn luck." He muttered, "Fireworks went off, or something, and it got distracted enough to let go, so I got into the car." As he spoke, George put antiseptic gel on the wound, making him flinch. "Careful!" he snapped softly, but George let it slide, refraining from comment. He rebound it carefully, tightly, and when he was done Mitchell got up. "Thanks. Now have a shower. I really need to kip." He left, as if giving George the cold shoulder, and the werewolf just stared after him. "Ridiculous." He muttered, "Right, shift." He indicated to Annie, who got up, frowning at him as she headed out. A few minutes later the shower started.

Mitchell undid his trousers and flopped down into the bed, sliding under the quilt and scratching at the edge of his bandage. When he stirred it was dark again and he sat up. It was almost eleven at night – he'd been asleep for almost fourteen hours... he rubbed his eyes, grabbing and tugging on the same trousers as earlier, walking cautiously downstairs. He could hear George and Annie talking softly in the lounge and he became aware how hungry he was. As that realisation washed over him there was a sudden, violent pain in his stomach that made him double over, fangs running out slightly, and he swallowed hard a couple of times. He had to eat, now. The bloodlust raked over him, powerful, not restricted due to the lack of food for so many hours. The pizza, in the oven – he forced himself up to his feet, into the kitchen, and heard George in the doorway but didn't look around. It was still there, so he turned the oven on and left it in there. "Mitchell." He turned to look at his friend.

George stood there, Annie just behind him. "Are you... okay?" he forced a smile and a nod, "Yeah, fine, I just..." he winced, eyes closing for a moment, "I guess I was tired. M'just hungry." He leant to turn the kettle on, grabbing a mug, and was surprised Annie didn't move to help him like normal. After pouring the tea, feeling a little more relaxed, he reached to get the pizza out and George headed in, sitting cautiously on the kitchen chair. "I'm sorry." The werewolf mumbled, as Mitchell turned the oven off and removed the now-hot pizza, taking a bite of a slice. Swallowing, he looked at George, "It's not your fault. It's my own, I was stupid." He smiled stiffly, "Is it work tonight?" he changed the subject before there could be an answer.

"What? Oh, uh, yeah." He glanced at his watch. "Soon, actually. If you hadn't woken up I was going to call in sick." Mitchell nodded, "Alright. I'll eat and get changed, then we can go." George nodded cautiously, and watched the vampire head into the lounge and flop on the sofa with the pizza. Annie drifted in to sit opposite George, looking at him. "What's wrong with him?" she asked softly. "I don't think he even knows." George mumbled, putting his head in his hands. "We'll have to tell him before he goes to work, alright?" she chewed her lip and nodded slowly.

_The more reviews I get the quicker I update!_


	7. Chapter 6

_Time for a little more chaos... I still don't own Being Human. Toby wouldn't be stupid enough to do this to Mitchell hurr. _

**Chapter Six.**

He'd eaten and the pain had faded; a quick change and he headed for the door, scooping up his keys, wearing a spare fleece. Then George appeared, ready too, and caught his upper arm. "Mitchell." His vampiric friend looked at him confused, "You uh... you have a little problem, your eyes..." he gestured, and Mitchell frowned, raising an eyebrow. "They're not right. There's no... colour, I mean there's the white but there's no, there's no... iris." He smiled nervously. "Oh." Mitchell mumbled, "Oh, uh..." he regretted once more that he had no reflection in mirrors, and even if he had some glass to look in it'd be blurred. He let his eyes switch to full black, causing George to step back in shock, then he pulled the colour back. "Any good?" he queried, and George swallowed, nodding shakily.

"Right, let's go. See ya later, Annie," he called and she nodded, giving him a faint smile, "Take care." She murmured softly and he grinned tightly, "I'll do my best." He headed out into the street, but as he was opening his door George spoke. "Maybe I should drive?" he said softly, and Mitchell froze, staring at him, "What..? Do you think I'm incapable, just because I had a long fucking sleep? Get in the car!" he snarled, getting in and slamming the door. Shocked, George did as he was told. As the car pulled away, he became more worried. Every so often Mitchell would tremble slightly, and he seemed completely unaware of it. He wasn't just pale, he was pasty, his skin having a weird waxy sheen to it; and George could smell the beads of sweat rolling down the vampire's neck. He'd never seen Mitchell ill before, it was wrong, he was meant to be frozen in time not ... changing like this.

They pulled into their usual space at the hospital, and walked inside, the tension rolling off Mitchell in waves. George could smell it, heavy and uncomfortable in the air, and walked up their lockers. He tugged off his jacket at the locker next to George, pulling the scrub shirt over his own, then the loose trousers. "Will you be alright?" he asked Mitchell softly, as they walked toward the supply cupboard next to which the rota info hung. There they'd find where they were assigned tonight. "I'll be fine. I just need to heal, it won't take too long." He assured his friend, unable to force a smile. They waited for someone else to finish getting their supplies and checked the board... "Oh, fantastic." Mitchell groaned. He was on the old people ward; "Agh. Don't feel too sorry for yourself." George commented, spotting his name. "I'm in the same area. I swear to god if I get another granny trying to punch me in the kidneys." Mitchell snorted as he got a mop and bucket, filling it with soap and water; George waited for him to finish and walked with him to the next floor.

As they reached it, one of the younger lads, a big bloke with a brick for a brain there on work experience, came past. He was clearly in a bad mood; Mitchell and George had just left the lift and started walking down the corridor when he stormed past, barging roughly into George's shoulder. Irritated, George looked around as if to say something but decided it wasn't worth it. "What the hell are you doing?" the snarl shocked him as there was a heavy thud. Mitchell had pushed the lad. He was staring at the vampire in shock, then with building anger. "Don't push it." He snarled again, and the lad looked to go for him, launching forward only to get a punch in the jaw. "I'll have you for that!" he snapped, but his piggy eyes were tearing up. As he went to walk away Mitchell glared at him and then turned back to George.

As he turned to face George again, a wave of pain roared through him, feeling like it came from his chest and lower back, a wave of cold pain, like jagged shards of ice scraped over every inch of skin. He heard a crack and felt another wave of cold on his side, bright lights flashing in his eyes. He didn't understand what had happened. There was a buzzing noise in his ears, another wave of spikes rolling up his spine and over his shoulders, and he knew he was arching his back. All his motor controls felt like they were gone, everything was burning and screaming and then red seemed to swirl with black, was over his senses until everything was numb and he slipped off.

George was shocked by the aggression but assumed it was pain influencing him. He had watched everything with wide eyes, prepared with his shocked admonishment. He'd been about to launch into it when he'd seen the flash of pain in Mitchell's eyes. The vampire's legs had given way and he'd crashed to the floor, only his arms hitting before him stopping Mitchell from ending up with a smashed nose. With a jerk he'd rolled onto his back, staring with blacked out eyes at the ceiling, gasping with horrible bubbling noises, almost as if he was choking. His fangs had distended and his body had jerked, his back arching and fingers digging into the floor. On his knees next to his friend George cried out his name, hands on his chest; tears of panic in his eyes. Someone heard his shouts and came running, just as Mitchell went still, losing consciousness. His eyes slid shut and the fangs slipped away, just in time; then he was sliding to A&E.

George panicked, as ever; "No, he has to go home, rest." He insisted at the questioning. "Please, just let someone help me carry him to the car, maybe Jim Ross or Paul, yeah?" he insisted, and finally they let him, seeing there was nothing to do. They got him in a wheelchair and eventually into the passenger seat. "Take it out of the holiday, yeah?" he squeaked, and headed home, trying to ignore the tears in his eyes and to stop himself from looking at the unconscious vampire, who was trembling as he lay there.


	8. Chapter 7

_Are you guys not liking this..? :( I know I'm being cruel to Mitchell, but still... there's not enough Mitchell abuse around! Reviews with ideas where to take this would be liked too! _

**Chapter Seven.**

George had stopped outside the house, tears in his eyes; as he parked up he let them flood down his face, hot droplets spattering onto the hands in his lap. He swallowed hard, a small whimper in his throat as he looked at his friend slumped over. Then he realised Mitchell's eyelids were flickering – sitting up straight he wiped his eyes with the back of a hand while he leant over. "Mitchell?" he whispered, and the eyes opened just a slit. He had to make an effort not to recoil at the sight of the thin slip of pure black. "George?" the voice was papery thin, and it brought fresh tears to his eyes. "Mitchell, c'mon, Mitchell." He whispered, gripping the arm nearest and making the vampire's eyes widen with a hiss of pain.

"Mitchell, you have to get inside, you're ill." He said, getting out the car and walking around to the other side, throwing the door open. "Mitchell, come on." He said, seeing the vampire's eyes were back to normal but unfocused, flickering slightly. "Come on!" he demanded, squeaking slightly as he slid an arm under Mitchell's, twisting him around and lifting him. As he did so, he felt the weight react in an attempt to stand, the vampire trying to move with him. Kicking the door shut on the car somehow George got to the door, which opened – Annie took just a moment to realise, and gripped Mitchell around the other side, helping him in. "We have to get him upstairs." George cut over Annie's ramble of scared questions. "I'll explain later, just HELP ME!" he squealed, tears falling again. She went silent, eyes full of sadness too.

They got Mitchell into his room, laying him on the bed. His eyes had closed again and he looked terrible, losing the edge of consciousness. "What happened?" Annie repeated, staring at him after a long moment, and George shook his head as he rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, Annie. There was this bloke, he hit him and then he just... he collapsed, he had a fit..." George bit his hand as tears fell again, face screwed up. Annie wrapped her arms around him and he laid his head on her squishy shoulder, trembling. "C'mon, I'll get you a cup of tea." She whispered, turning him to face the door. She glanced back at Mitchell as the door was closed behind them.

George nursed the cup of tea on the kitchen table in front of him. "Annie, what do I do?" he mumbled. "I didn't know... I ripped Herrick apart, that's why he died, can they die from a bite?" Annie shook her head, an expression of empathy on her face, "I don't know, sweetheart." She whispered, patting his back gently. Tear splashed into his hot drink, and he lifted it to swallow another mouthful. "I can't go back to the vampires, I can't just _ask. _Can I?" he asked with a flutter of hope, and she didn't respond. "I mean, they'll hate me for killing Herrick. He was their leader. We'll just have to... wait..." he forced down the rest of the tea in one gulp, flopping back. "I'll see how he is in the morning." He whispered, and Annie nodded, gently patting his arm. "Alright George... it'll be okay." She whispered.

_Sorry for the short chapter. I need reviiiieewwws... been working on how to sort him out. Suggestions welcome!_


	9. Chapter 8

_Thank you for the great reviews everyone! 3 Sorry for the delay but my boyfriend was over for a couple nights and I didn't get a writing opportunity! _

**Chapter Eight.**

George woke with a gasp; it took him just a moment to realise why he'd awoken, the noise echoing in his ears, Mitchell's screaming. He sounded like he was in agony; George leapt to his feet, dashing toward his friend's room and finding the door open. Annie was already there, her hands on Mitchell's chest as he jerked in clear pain, face screwed up tight. "He won't wake up." She whimpered as George looked at his friend, grabbing his wrists as they twisted. "Mitchell!" he yelled, shaking the hands, staring at the vampire's face. He let out one last cry, closer to a choking gasp than a scream, and settled into harsh panting, trembling violently all over. George carefully released the wrists and glanced sideways, seeing the tears in the ghost's eyes. "Get me a damp flannel, please, Annie." He murmured, offering her an uncertain look, and wiping her eyes she turned and left the room.

Something occurred to George as he stared at that pale face, coated in a faint sheen of sweat. He bit his lip and looked at Annie, who opened her mouth as if to say something, but just let it close, handing over the damp towel. Gently, he wiped away the sweat and then laid the cool cloth on Mitchell's forehead. "I was thinking." He whispered, softly, "The werewolf, it's an infection... and that's what being a vampire is, too, isn't it?" he looked at her and she nodded uncertainly. "I think so. I mean, it works in the same way, a bite..." George nodded again, "So they're fighting." He whispered, taking Annie's hand. "The vampire and the... the 'wolf, they must be fighting inside him." There were tears brimming in his eyes and she shook her head slowly, pity burning strong in her brown eyes. "George, this isn't your fault. He'll pull through, you know how strong he is!" but George was letting his tears fall now, face screwed up, "But what'll he be, Annie? What've I done to him?" he sobbed, letting her wrap her arms around him.

He hunched over the pale, prone form laying on the cold grass in front of him. Mitchell was shirtless, bare skin chalky white in the moonlight. Then he bucked and twisted, and let out a groaning cry, as in front of George's eyes he started to transform. His screams were horrible, animalistically renting the air in front of him. Fur pushed through his skin, sleek and greasy as on his head, then George realised if the moon was out... he must be transforming! He felt the ghost of dream-pain as his mind made him twist next to Mitchell. Now in wolf form, he circled the pure black other wolf, which he noticed had far longer canines that normal. Then as they lunged he awoke, eyes snapping wide and staring at the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. He'd gone back to bed about four, after Mitchell seemed to be resting more soundly, and it was half seven now.

He rolled to his feet, padding into the bathroom, unnerved by the dream. Under the hot water he forced himself to think. He didn't know what else to do, so there was one option... go speak to the vampires. With any luck, they'd not hurt him... with better luck, he might just find someone, anyone who'd help him. Even a vampire's help... he couldn't let Mitchell die from this. It was all his fault. Clean, dry, he tugged on some clothes and stepped out the room to find Annie holding a cup of tea that she proffered to him. "Thank you." He murmured and she smiled back, but shakily. "George, I've made a decision," she announced, "I'm gonna go to the vampires." He blinked in surprise, opening his mouth, but she cut him off. "Don't try to talk me out of it! They can't hurt me, and I don't want Mitchell to... to go, so I'm going to go to speak to them! And you won't stop me from going so don't even try." She crossed her arms and nodded with a dead set expression to her face.

George smiled at her, "Alright. What's the plan? I'll go with you. Maybe we can get some help." Annie's face flashed through a range of expressions in a moment. Shock, confusion, happiness, worry and settled onto annoyance. "You can't go." She said and he raised an eyebrow. "George! You're the one who killed their leader. You think they're going to want to speak to you?" he shook his head slowly, "Annie, if we go, we go together. That's how it works now." He smiled, "And anyway, I've got you to protect me. Superghost!" he grinned and she laughed, genuinely. "Alright." He nodded, and drained his tea, "Let's go, superghost."


	10. Chapter 9

_This was originally meant to be about five chapters... oops._

**Chapter Nine.**

George grabbed his jacket and Mitchell's car keys off the side, looking sideways at Annie. "Ready?" he murmured. "We'll go to the funeral parlour. Maybe they'll still be there." She nodded nervously, stepping out the door before he shut and locked it, walking to the car. He climbed in the driver's side, wincing at the blood on the seat, and glancing at Annie as he slid the key into the ignition. She had a dead set expression on her face, eyes fixed forward, and he smiled sadly as they took off.

The car rumbled along the road, silent inside; George couldn't find anything to say to Annie. They had no plan, no expectations. All looked quiet as they pulled up in front of the parlour; then they saw someone was stood outside, casually leaning on the brick wall. He looked to be in his mid twenties, with blonde hair swept back into a ponytail sitting at the nape of his neck. He wore a long coat, down to ankles almost in leather, and a black shirt. His jeans were dark blue with black trainers, and his eyes hidden by large, mirrored shades. The pasty pallor of his skin was confirmation enough of what he was. As George and Annie stepped out, his head turned toward them and he frowned, straightening. "You're not vampires. What're you doing here?" his voice was harsh, cold. George wondered if he looked at himself or Annie – the shades made it impossible to tell.

Uncertainly, George approached, Annie next to him. He paused just a few feet away. "I need... some help." He said, slowly, weighing each word before he spoke. The vampire tilted his head slightly to the side, a blonde eyebrow raising as he waited for them to continue. "I don't know who I need to speak to. Someone... with experience, who'd be willing to help a werewolf." He swallowed and Annie stared at him, wondering what he was going to say, but before she could warn him he spoke again. "The werewolf who killed Herrick." He added, staring confidently at the blonde vamp. The eyebrow dropped and he considered them for a moment. Then when he spoke there was a strange lilt to his voice, a hint of an old accent long lost.

"Why would a werewolf come to vampires for help?" he said, in a voice that was almost a whisper. "You wouldn't come to get help for a werewolf. So that werewolf must be you." There was the start of a slight smile, the lips curling, and George felt like recoiling. "So Mitchell must need help." He concluded, crossing his arms. Annie glanced at George and then to the vampire, "I know we took a risk coming here, but we don't know what to do." She talked quickly, "I mean I know it's his fault Herrick died but he was a legend and I thought maybe-" she went silent as the vampire held up a hand, which had a jagged scar running over the palm.

There was a long pause, while George glanced uncertainly at Annie. "Don't go in there." The vampire said at last. "There's no one in there who you'd want to see. My name is Jackson." He raised his hand and removed his glasses, and both George and Annie recoiled a step automatically. His eyes were very bright, the colour almost yellow, so vibrant was the green. He grinned at their reaction. "Tell me what's wrong, then." He said softly, moving toward the car. George exchanged a glance with Annie as he got in the back. "We don't have a choice." He mumbled. She bit her lip, looking at the vampire in the backseat. "Let's go." She responded.

As they drove, George explained the situation to the best of his knowledge, with Annie inputting what he missed. The whole time, Jackson was silent, listening, until they arrived at the house. George turned in his seat to look at him. "Why are you going to help us?" he asked softly, and Jackson grinned again. "My name is Jackson Pelic. I'm six hundred and thirty years old and I am the vampire responsible for the turning of William Herrick."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

George stared at him for a long moment as Annie shook her head, "No, you're lying." She said, bluntly, "Mitchell told us how he was turned. The little vampire girl, she's the one who did it, sh-" "Hetty." Jackson cut him off with a wide, dark smile. "I told her to take him. I wanted him, to make him my student, but I was busy." A venomous look spread over his face. "MY mistake was clear." He sighed deeply, "You have ridded the land of a vampire that never deserved what he got. But so it seems everywhere... the vampires are losing the thing that defined us. The last hundred, two hundred years..." his lip curled. "Mitchell is a creature that is relevant to our old ways, and I have enough experience to help. It is lucky that he had you two to help him, because without it he would be dead by now. Either by the vampire community, or by his own body ripping itself apart." With that, he stepped out of the car.

George leapt out of the car after him, Annie following as rapidly as possible to stare at him. "You're serious." She whispered, and he smiled at her again. "Hetty was destroyed. She was a means to an end. I regret ever using her." He frowned, "There is a way to fix him, George, but it will be... a challenge." He scowled, watching the werewolf open the door and Annie walk in. George considered, then sighed, "Come in then." He murmured, and Jackson followed him in, shutting the door behind him. "So, would you like a cup of-" Annie was interrupted by a loud crash upstairs, and all their heads snapped up to look at the ceiling. "Tea." She mumbled, as George looked at her then ran up the stairs, where the crash had come from. Mitchell's room.

Jackson was just behind him as he opened the door, and saw Mitchell on his feet, shirtless, breathing hard. His eyes were blacked out and his fangs descended, body in a half crouch. He didn't seem to notice them, attacking the wardrobe. There seemed no reason; he launched himself at the wardrobe, striking it, dragging his nails across the wood, then dropped to the floor, digging his hands into the carpet and letting out a choking, sobbing cry. He curled into a tight ball then grabbed the edge of the bed, pulling himself up and dragging the covers off, ripping through it with his nails. "Holy..." George whispered, staring. "Get a chair and rope!" Jackson ordered sharply, leaping past him into the room, and toward Mitchell. "Rope." Annie whispered, and disappeared. George ran downstairs, grabbing one of the kitchen chairs and back up into the room.

Jackson had launched himself at Mitchell, grabbing him around the chest. Mitchell cried out, twisting and trying to bite the other vampire, but he was insanely quick, dodging every strike and bite. As George came in and put the chair down, stepping back, Jackson manhandled Mitchell into the chair, where he cried out and kicked. Annie poofed back into place, clutching a coil of rope. "Tie his hands to the chair!" Jackson gasped, out of breath holding him still. George and Annie worked together, forcing his wrists together at the back, then tied them as tight as he could to the chair.

When he was bound, Jackson stepped away from him, watching as he twisted and fought the chair, almost howling as he flailed. "What the hell is wrong with him?" Whimpered Annie, staring at his form as he snapped at the air, at Jackson, even at George. Jackson scowled. "It's the venom in the wolf bite." He informed them, "It's trying to infect him. That can kill vampires. The difficulty is, most vampires don't live long enough to face this. Werewolves rather enjoy ripping vampires apart." George snorted, but Jackson shrugged. "I'd enjoy that cup of tea, Annie." He whispered. "We have to wait for him to sort himself out, calm down." He looked at Mitchell again, trying to ignore the tears in the werewolf's eyes.

Downstairs George and Jackson sat down at the table, each with a cup of tea. "There's a couple of solutions, but none of them are nice." He said softly, almost sadly. "You could wait, give it a couple months, and if he doesn't die from no food or blood, then one will win over the other. If the wolf wins, he'll die. If the vampire wins, then he'll probably be wild, worse than an animal." Annie was trembling as she listened, biting her lip. "But of course, we don't want to do that. So there's two more options. Let him go on a rampage, kill all he wants to, drink and maybe his body will fight it off. It's not likely to work, though. The last... is let him feed from the wolf that bit him." He stared intently into George's eyes.


	12. Chapter 11

_Only a couple more chapters to go! Hope you're enjoying it... now a little bit of George suffering._

**Chapter Eleven.**

Annie stared at Jackson for a long moment, shaking her head slowly, "I thought vampires couldn't drink 'wolf blood?" she said, as George slowly recovered himself, pale and with eyes wide. "Lauren was going to feed off me but she ... when she smelt it, she sort of ... recoiled." He said, softly, and Jackson nodded, taking a cup of tea. "Lyco blood isn't nice. It tastes foul." He wrinkled his lip, "We can't feed from animals and that's how it smells and tastes to us. The irony is, drinking lyco blood actually makes vampires stronger while it lasts. Most vamps don't know that, which is why they're content to kill you without feeding." There was a pause as he took another sip. Annie and George stared at him expectantly and he seemed to realize they were waiting for more.

"As far as I know, he won't need more than a few mouthfuls. The difficulty is that he has to drink it from the source; and I don't know if he'll be willing to feed from you. If he manages to regain his mind for a while, then perhaps we can get him to do it, but..." Jackson shrugged again. "Trial and error." He drained the mug and handed it to Annie with a smile, and she took it only half aware. She seemed twisted between horror and determination. George looked at her then back to Jackson. "We have no choice." He stood up, rubbing his eyes, "I have to do this, before I change my mind." Jackson stood, his hair swinging behind him, and nodded, face now without a smile. Annie rent-a-ghosted to the landing, outside Mitchell's room, which was now unsettlingly quiet. George paused outside the room, closing his eyes for a moment before opening it slowly, cautiously, looking toward the chair.

Mitchell lay still, his head slightly tilted back, still looking pale. His eyes were closed, but as George murmured his name he lifted his head and they slid slowly open, revealing their natural hazel colour. He felt relief flood through him, moving over cautiously to his side. Jackson remained in the doorway, watching, Annie next to him; as George crouched a little. "Mitchell." He repeated, and there was the edge of a smile on Mitchell's face. "George." He responded, his voice a harsh rasp. "I'm sorry." He breathed, then coughed slightly. George winced at the horrible state his friend was in – the vampire trembled violently, wincing in pain, then looked back at him. The bandage was covered in dark marks from the wound; it clearly hadn't stopped bleeding. "Mitchell, I'm gonna help you." George whispered, tears in his eyes. Annie was biting her lip, her own brimming, but Jackson seemed unaffected.

"You have to feed, Mitchell. From me, alright?" George whispered and Mitchell looked alarmed, "George, no." he groaned, "I can't do that, I - " George let his expression get angry, cutting him off, "I am _not _letting you die, Mitchell! This will kill you and it's my fault, I'm putting it right." The vampire closed his eyes again and trembled, unable to help a slight, choking cry. Annie rubbed her eyes hard. "When I start, I won't … I won't be able to stop myself, George." He whispered. "I can feel it, inside me, it's screaming. There's no holding it back right now, even … even if you are a werewolf." He coughed again, his voice raspy and paper-thin.

George straightened and held up his wrist. "Do I… do I cut it, or..?" he looked to Jackson, who shook his head. "I can bite." Mitchell mumbled. Despite his resistance, the hunger was clear in his eyes. He shifted his shoulders, pulling himself a little higher, as George took a steadying breath and held his wrist awkwardly in front of the vampire's mouth. His eyes went black and fangs descended; with a single jerking movement he bit into George's wrist, who made a short cry of pain. Blood welled up and Mitchell sucked desperately at the wound, his arms and wrists desperately trying to pull free in order to clutch the wrist closer. He gulped, swallowing a large mouthful, and Annie moved over to George, holding his shoulders, trying to keep him from being too scared by this.

After a minute or two passed Jackson stepped into the room. "Enough." He spoke softly, but powerfully, and George pulled his wrist away. Mitchell gave a desperate cry, blood on his mouth, and Annie pulled George into a half hug, pulling him toward the bathroom to wrap the wound. Jackson moved toward Mitchell who snarled at him, breathing hard, and pulled a tissue out from his pocket, crouching and wiping his mouth clean. "Brace yourself." The elder vampire whispered, the words concerned but still strangely emotionless. Mitchell's eyes flickered to normal as they reached him, confusion sweeping his face. Then they snapped wide open and he arched his back, mouth opening as if to scream but he just gasped as his hands dug into the wood of the chair, pain sweeping his body.


	13. Chapter 12

_Sorry for the delay, being going through a bit of a negative phase and had my one year anniversary with my boyfriend. So this'll be the final chapter, but I might do an epilogue!_

** Chapter Twelve.**

Mitchell bucked in the chair and cried out; as George headed back into the room Jackson was untying him. "What's happening?" Annie asked, sounding concerned and tired. Jackson didn't respond, scooping Mitchell up as if he was a feather and laying him on the bed. He twisted, breathing hard, tears running down his face, as Jackson crouched next to him. "It won't last long." He said gently, and George could've sworn the look on his face... he shook it off.

He'd wrapped his wrist to cover the bite, sealing it, and it was sore but no more than a normal wound. He was trusting Jackson, trusting that the vampire wouldn't let that happen if it would make George ill... the blonde vampire had taken Mitchell's bound arm in his hand, and turned his eyes on George. "Come here." He murmured, and the two approached, cautiously crouching next to him. Jackson's slender fingers worked quickly to remove the darkened bandage; as it fell away, the skin under it was covered in dry blood, giving it a brown tint, but the wounds were shrinking and knitting before their eyes, sealing. Annie's eyes were huge as she saw them shrink into red, then pink, then white scars, before finally fading away into nothing. He appeared to be deeply asleep. "He should wake up in about an hour." He said softly, looking at George and Annie.

George glanced at the ghost. "He's going to be hungry." He remarked, looking at Jackson, who nodded. "I'd say order an Indian. He'll need carbs straight away, if he's clean." He looked back down at Mitchell, a hand twitching. "Let's leave him be." They left the room, heading back down to sit in the lounge, all on edge. George scooped up the phone and made the order for an hour's time. Jackson slid out a wallet. "Allow me to pay." George began to protest and he raised a hand. "Please, allow me." George glanced at Annie but gave up with a shrug, "Alright." He sighed, taking the money that was handed to him and shoving it in his pocket. "Um, Jackson..." Annie asked, nervously, "The bite... Mitchell bit George, will he be-" "George will be fine." Jackson smiled again.

"It would seem that the werewolf virus is a lot more powerful than the vampire one, which is why vampires feel the need to feed so often, to maintain it. With the part time aspect as George has, the vampiric venom just can't get a foothold on the genes to cause the same response as a 'wolf bite to a vampire." George nodded but Annie looked like she needed a translation. George promised to explain it better later and she nodded nervously, making Jackson laugh. "Oh!" she leapt up, "tea."

The time slipped away and after almost an hour there came a creak from upstairs, then a door opening. "George?" Mitchell's voice was soft, uncertain, and the werewolf headed up the stairs quickly, leaving Annie and Jackson alone. He stopped at the top of the stairs, staring at his friend; he looked pasty but only a little more than usual. "George." He repeated, a faint smile on his lips as he grabbed the werewolf and they hugged tightly. "I missed you." He whispered, rubbing his eyes, and George laughed quietly. "You too, mate." he stepped back. "We've ordered some food, we thought you'd be pretty hungry." Mitchell smiled, "And I expect Annie'll have six cups of tea ready for you when you're done in the shower." Mitchell laughed, rough but genuine, and the sound made George feel like crying. He patted his shoulder and turned to go back downstairs, leaving Mitchell to sort himself out.

The doorbell rang as he reached the bottom; Annie was in the kitchen, indeed making cups of tea, and he answered it, taking in the big bag and handing over the money from his pocket. Door shut he began to pull the hot food out, putting it on the table. "Jackson, d'you want to serve yourself?" the vampire slipped over, taking the proffered plate. There was enough food for four people – so there was a lot. Mitchell appeared ten minutes later, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen; George and Annie were in there, but Jackson was in the lounge. "Mitchell." Annie breathed, bouncing over to him and hugging him tight. He blinked but hugged her back. He'd gotten changed, into a clean top and jogging bottoms.

George smiled at this and offered him a plate of food, which he took, and they all headed into the lounge, Annie carrying their teas. Then they stopped in the doorway. Mitchell paused, surprised, "Jackson." He said, softly, then grinned. "I think I have to thank you, don't I?" and Jackson laughed. "It was my pleasure to help a legend, Mitchell, my pleasure." And the four sat quietly, watching TV, eating greasy food and drinking tea well into the night.


End file.
